


It Takes a Village

by Tia_Pixie



Category: Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, F/M, Gen, Kid!Fic, Non-Chronological, Pre-Movie, References to Sex, Will's childhood, archaic morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tia_Pixie/pseuds/Tia_Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots depicting the childhood of Will Scarlet, developing the relationships between the characters, focussing primarily on the Little family and Will Scarlet.  All set before the movie.</p><p>From chapter one:<br/>"He flicked his gaze back to the boy at his feet, then across the darkened road towards the boy's own home. The house was in total darkness, its ragged curtains flapping in the cold autumn breeze and silent except for the quiet, desperate keening noises from its lone inhabitant. (...) John felt what little he had left of his annoyance wobble and collapse completely.  Cursing whatever lustful scoundrel had helped to conceive this pitiful bastard whom he clearly did not want, John returned his gaze to the child.  </p><p>"Well," he said abruptly, "you coming in then, lad?"  "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1184

**Author's Note:**

> In my own headcanon, Will Scarlet is approximately 18 in the film (and therefore born in late 1174) hence these chapters will be titled with the years in which they occur according to my headcanon.
> 
> For this piece, Will is 10, Wulf around 2 and John/Fanny are in their late twenties/early thirties.

John Little stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of the familiar curled up figure that was just visible in the flickering fire light coming from inside his home. Bidding the other men goodnight, he continued across the little village, coming to a stop by the door to his home and eyeing the unmoving form perturbedly. The boy sat with his arms folded about his drawn up knees, face buried in them and motionless except for the occasional shuddering breaths that wracked his small frame. John cleared his throat loudly. The boy sniffled once before drawing his sleeve across his nose and raising his face to peer hopefully at John. Taking in the bloodied nose and the way tear tracks still shone upon the otherwise grimy face, John huffed irritatedly. Perhaps sensing his irritation, the child lowered his face to his arms once more and hugged himself closer. Seeing this and hearing the stifled sobs coming from the shaking figure at his feet, John felt his ill will wane slightly. He raised his gaze to the window through which he could see his wife stirring broth of some kind over a crackling stove, her rounded belly tight against her patched dress. Beside her, he saw his infant son and daughter - the latter still in her first year - who were happily babbling to one another on the floor. He flicked his gaze back to the boy at his feet, then across the darkened road towards the boy's own home. The house was in total darkness, its ragged curtains flapping in the cold autumn breeze and silent except for the quiet, desperate keening noises from its lone inhabitant. The child gave a particularly harsh sob that became a cough and returned to his near silent weeping.  John felt what little he had left of his annoyance wobble and collapse completely.

Cursing whatever lustful scoundrel had helped to conceive this pitiful bastard whom he clearly did not want, John returned his gaze to the child.

"Well," he said abruptly, "you coming in then, lad?"

The boy paused in his weeping to stare tearfully up at John. He held the man's gaze but did not move, continuing to blink hopefully up at him.

Sighing long-sufferingly, John pushed the door open, flooding the doorstep in flickering orange light. "William," he barked. "In or out?"

Fearing the offer would be retracted; the boy scrambled to his feet and darted inside the house just in front of John.

* * *

"Mercy me!" exclaimed Fanny who had turned to greet her husband as he opened the door. "What the devil have you been getting in to now, Will Scarlett?" She gazed horror-struck as she took in the bedraggled waif who had preceded her husband into the house.

Will took a hesitant step towards her before pausing and turning to look at John, who nodded once before sweeping past them towards his children. Having received John's permission, he rushed toward the woman and flung his short arms about her stomach, burying his face in her apron. Instinctively, Fanny's arms wrapped around the little boy, petting his mousy hair and rocking him slightly. Lifting both of his small children in his great arms, John turned to her and shook his head in mock despair. In truth, seeing her play mother to another man's son ought to have infuriated him – and to some extent, it did – but in that moment, seeing her in her element as a woman, swollen-bellied with one child and yet so full of care for another filled him with pride and he felt a huge swell of love for his wife.

Lowering his infant daughter to the bed, he stepped around his wife and her charge, lifting the lid from the pot and inhaling the scent of the simmering broth inside. Glancing at what meagre food his wife had been able to put together, he thanked the Lord that their little family was not yet so large that they could not spare a little for the poor starving son of a madwoman. Setting his son upon the floor, he began ladling himself a bowlful that was less than he would have liked but would have to suffice. He glanced at his wife again who had now settled herself and the boy upon the bed beside John's daughter. The boy sat with his head resting upon her bosom, his arms still around her waist while she had placed one arm around his small shoulders, the other smoothing his matted hair.

"There now," Fanny murmured when Will's crying had reduced to shuddering breaths. "What's all this then, my lad?"

Sniffling and dragging his sleeve across his face, Will sat back, staring moodily into his lap. John watched from the corner of his eye, slurping stew hungrily. The boy did not answer.

"William," Fanny prompted sternly, taking his face in one hand and beginning to wipe the grime and blood away with one corner of her apron. "What fight have you gotten into this time? More silly horseplay gone too far with that new lad?"

"He called my mother a whore," he whispered angrily, wrenching his chin out of Fanny's grasp and scowling at nothing.

"Who did?" Fanny asked, surprised that a newcomer would have the guts to voice aloud what even some of the local lads were too afraid to say to the fierce little urchin in front of her.

"Luke," Will spat.

Fanny's alarmed gaze met John's shocked one. "Luke?"

Will nodded. "Luke, the smithy's boy?" He started to nod again but flinched and cried out as Fanny's hand slapped him upside the head. His hurt look had no effect on either of the Littles. "Don't you give me that look, William Scarlett," Fanny ordered furiously, smacking him several times on the arm. "You had no business picking a fight with him – that  _boy_  is twice your age!"

"Ain't you got the good sense God gave you?" John added loudly from the table, thinking of the boy (who was no more than eleven) trying to hold his own against a young man of near twenty. It was no wonder the boy had looked so roughed up.

"I hope he thrashed you good and hard," Fanny continued under her breath, resuming her ministrations none too gently this time. "Or I might just see to it myself." John silently thought that somebody ought to.

"No! He call– " Will began beseechingly.

"William," Fanny interrupted firmly, ignoring the mutinous glare being sent her way by Will. "D'you think I want my boy, or daughter, or this one in here," she placed her hand over her stomach, "growing up picking fights with people twice their age?" Will shook his head. "So don't you go doing it neither, right?" Will raised his eyebrows and shrugged arrogantly, not meeting her gaze. "William?" she prompted warningly.

"YES!" Will finally snapped angrily.

"Good lad," Fanny praised, reaching out and wiping away a few furious tears that had been making their way down the boy's face, tucking his hair behind his ear as she did so. "Here," she said rising from the bed and plucking her son from the floor and placing him in Will's arms. "Take Wulf for a minute – I can't get a moments peace with him around."

Whether to prove her point, or because he enjoyed being given a new playmate, Wulf began chattering incessantly to himself and Will. Will scowled dubiously at the little boy before relenting and settling down on the floor to half-heartedly play with him.

Rising from his chair, John moved to stand behind his wife who stood at the stove once more. Wrapping his enormous arms around her, he could feel her trembling slightly. She reached one hand up to squeeze his where it rested over her stomach. She raised her other hand to her face and turned into him slightly. Though muffled by his own body, he heard her mutter something about 'setting a bad example' and ' _twice_ his age, John!' Feeling a wave of fury wash over him, he glared at the young boy who was wincing as Wulf climbed over him to get to a toy he had hidden behind his back. Seeing him sat there, innocently playing with their son, John could hardly believe the boy could have aroused such distress in his wife.

Dishing up two bowlfuls of stew, Fanny turned and called Will over. Having been momentarily distracted, Will yelped when Wulf suddenly pulled his hair particularly hard. Will gave Wulf an indignant shove that made the infant hiccup in surprise before letting loose some earsplittingly loud wails. Incensed, John advanced on Will, yanking him up by one arm and sending him over to Fanny with several almighty wallops across his backside.

Fanny set a bowl down in front of a once more sniffling Will, adding a light smack of her own to the back of his head as he sat down. Glancing at John, who had snatched Wulf up from the ground and was tossing him in the air before catching him once more, she caressed the patch of hair she had struck.

"Eat up," she commanded quietly, "then you can go to bed and be home by dawn – before your mother ever knows you've been gone." She silently thought that Anne very rarely noticed if Will was gone or not but she thought it best not to say it aloud.

Will smiled shyly up at her, slurping loudly and hungrily as if someone might take it away again.

* * *

"Say your prayers now, Will."

Will obediently recited a passage of the Bible in Latin, having no clue as to what it meant, and looked to Fanny for her approval before settling down on to the pile of rags and old blankets that would serve as his bed for the night. Laying the final blanket over Will's scarcely waking body, Fanny turned to find Wulf at her feet for the umpteenth time since it became clear to him that Will was staying there for the night. Frowning indulgently, she looked a question at Will who shrugged, too tired to do anything else. Raising the blanket and laying Wulf upon Will's makeshift bed too, she retired to her own bed.

John finished putting out the flames and blew out the candle, smiling as his son's high voice broke the silence as he bade his father goodnight.

"Goodnight, my lad", John murmured, pausing by the curtain that separated their bed from the rest of the house. Then – almost as an afterthought – he grunted "G'night, William."

Receiving no answer, he turned to see if Will was already asleep. He was not. John turned just in time to catch the way the boy squished his eyes shut tightly but not before John had seen the dying light from the fire glinting in the boy's eyes, which were awake and fixed upon him. Unsure what to make of the strange, fierce, little scrapper gracing their house, John climbed into his own bed where his wife was waiting for him with their daughter.


	2. 1174 - Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Winter approaches, Duncan calls on Mother Scarlett to pass on a devastating message from his master.
> 
>  
> 
> "But there's going to be a child, Duncan!" She shouted, her chest heaving. He stood, shocked, unsure what to say. She turned away, sobbing quietly into one hand. "I'm going to have his child," she whispered desolately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne is approximately 16/17, and, though this should be completely clear, she is Will's mother.

* * *

"Wait!"

The man hardened his heart to the young woman's cries, standing and pulling his cloak tight around his neck; it would be a long winter, he could tell.

"Duncan, please wait!" Anne grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn though he would not meet her eyes. "Duncan, why is he doing this?" Her breathing hitched as she added desperately, "what wrong have I done him?"

Duncan sighed and pushed her into a nearby chair, kneeling at her feet and taking her hands in his. "You've done nought wrong, Miss," he began gently, patting her hand. "My master does not blame you for any of this."

She blinked hopefully at him, her voice an excited whisper "Then he may yet change his mind." At Duncan's grim expression, her face fell once more. "He said that he…" she trailed off, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. Duncan wiped away a few stray tears as they slipped from under her eyelashes and rolled down her pale face. She opened her eyes, fixing him with a tearful glare. "Was it lies?"

"I don't believe so, Miss."

She gazed into the hearth, giving a tiny sob which was quickly cut off. Brushing him aside, she strode to the window and looked out across the common. Even from where he was, he could see her hands shaking as she wrung them. "Will he see me?" She asked quietly, without turning.

"No, Miss." Duncan wished he could comfort her, but he hadn't any words to make this better. Still, he reminded himself, Anne was hardly the first serving girl to have graced her lord's bed; the affair would have ended sooner or later anyway.

"I  _must_  speak with him," Anne suddenly said desperately, clutching at Duncan's hand.

"No, Miss. He will not – "

"But there's going to be a  _child_ , Duncan!" She shouted, her chest heaving. He stood, shocked, unsure what to say. She turned away, sobbing quietly into one hand. "I'm going to have his child," she whispered desolately.

"A child?" He repeated uncertainly. " _His_ child, you're certain?" She shot him a look of such heartbroken indignation that he was left in no doubt as to the answer.

"Let me go back with you," she implored, rushing to put on her cloak, "this will change his mind, I know it will! He must see me – he  _must_  listen!"

Duncan shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said, truly meaning it, "his Lordship will not see you." Seeing her shaking her head frantically, about to protest, he added, "His Lordship does not  _want_ to see you." It was perfectly true, his master had made it plain that his seeing her would be his undoing – he would not see her for fear of going back on his word to his son. Duncan was not unaware however, of how the statement would sound to the girl.

"He does not  _want_ to see me?" She repeated blankly, "He cannot refuse to see me! A man – any  _honourable_ man – does not refuse his wife because it does not suit him to see her!" She finished angrily.

"Perhaps, Miss. But  _you_  are not his  _wife_ ," Duncan reminded her gently, but firmly.

"I'm as good as!" She cried shrilly. He did not reply, but his look was enough for her to flush – partly in shame, partly in anger. "What, then?" She asked bitterly, "I'm his whore? A pretty  _slut_  to warm his bed and his body while his  _fine Lady_  lies cold in the ground?"

"Have you no shame, girl?" Duncan whispered harshly, "Isn't it enough to have stolen a dead woman's husband? Must you insult her memory as well?"

The young woman had the good grace to look contrite. Lowering her eyes, she raised one hand to her stomach, which, now that he knew, Duncan could see was beginning to swell. Taking her arm, he returned her to the seat, where she sat silently weeping.

"There now," he sighed, gentle once more in the face of her despair, "that's enough of that. There's no place for such ugly words from a pretty lass like you," Her attempt at a tremulous smile quickly crumpled into another sob. She  _was_ pretty though, even in her dishevelled state. With her fine features and alabaster skin she might have made quite the noblewoman in another life, he mused. It was a pity for her that she wasn't ugly, he found himself thinking, if she had been, his master's head would not have been turned in the first place. She might have carried on her work at the manor and then settled with some local lad and led a happy, if humble, life.

"But I don't deserve this from him," she whispered mournfully. Duncan was inclined to agree. Whatever she and their master had had together, she had been good to him and, although Duncan suspected her feelings for the man ran deeper than his master's did for her, his master had in turn been good to her until now. She had been foolish and Duncan told her so, but whatever penance was due to her for her actions, she did not deserve to be cast aside without so much as a goodbye from the man who had been her lover for the better part of a year.

"It's done," he said with an air of finality, "and now you must make the best of it." Rising once more, he withdrew a purse from inside his cloak and held it out to her, "Take it. He'll not take any more rent from you, but he bade me give it to you anyway."

She scowled at his hand, "He pays me for my  _services_?" she spat, "I don't want his money."

"Then you're even more foolish than I thought," when she still did not take it from him, Duncan placed the purse on the table beside her, "Use it for the child," he said quietly.

"He's taught me most of my letters," she said softly as though he hadn't spoken, "May I write to him and tell him about his child?"

"I can tell him, miss," even as he said it, Anne flicked her gaze to his and they both knew that he would not.

She nodded defeatedly, absentmindedly rubbing her belly.

"I have to go," he told her, once more drawing his cloak around himself and heading for the door. "I shouldn't have stayed."

"Duncan!" He closed his eyes but paused. "I…thank you," she said wearily, "You've always been very kind…and you didn't have to tell me."

"He sent me to do so, miss." He cut off any further thanks.

"No...you didn't approve, and I just…you were a lot kinder than I deserved." She admitted tearfully.

He considered her for a moment – he did not approve of their dalliance, no good Christian man would have, but even so he could not bring himself to blame her for it entirely. "It was a mistake…but you'll pay for it now," he commented grimly, nodding at her stomach.

She did not reply for a minute, when she did, she simply said vaguely, "Yes."

He took one last look at her before turning and leaving the cottage. He did not see her again, nor did he ever lay eyes upon the child though they did meet many years later. It occurred to him as he stood in his master's chambers as the man told his son simply "It is finished" that he had never even known the girl's last name.


	3. 1174 - Autumn/Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger appears in the village, alone and pregnant. And Will Scarlet is born. 
> 
>  
> 
> "The birth had been hard and the child, small – many of the women were already muttering about mothers and infants who did not make it through the night they were born. It made Fanny feel chilled to the bone when they had all cleared out, leaving her alone with the newborn and its mother – both looking pale and small."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne Scarlet is roughly 16. Fanny & John are late teens/early twenties.
> 
> Warning: this chapter references the use of herbal remedies to bring about miscarriage, and some very unkind things to say about a newborn child. Please do not be offended, they are not my own thoughts on the topic.

Fanny struggled to catch up with her brother as he pushed through the assembled crowd to see what was happening. A voice calling her name made her turn.

"Fanny! Come over here, girl," John Little – her intended – beckoned her over, pushing someone out of the way as he did so. She smiled shyly at him and sidled in in front of him. "Some girl's lying senseless." he informed her with his hands on her shoulders. She realised, with some disappointment, that if John with his enormous stature could not see what was happening, then she hadn't a hope.

"Who?" She asked, standing on her toes – just in case.

"Dunno, but she's hurtin' bad by the looks of it," he murmured.

The assembled crowd leapt back as one as the slumped figure before them suddenly screamed, clutching her stomach.

"Thought you said she was out of it," Fanny muttered accusingly, her heart going out to the girl.

"Well, I dunno do I?" John shot back.

"Tom," Fanny called, catching sight of her brother weaving through the crowd once more. "What's going on?"

"She's sick or something," her brother told them breathlessly as he joined them, "keeps muttering to herself. I think she's  _silly_."

"Not a local?"

Tom shook his head. "Not seen her before."

"Get out of my way!" The crowd split as one of the more senior local women came bustling through, her brow creased in concern and her son following in her wake. Kneeling by the stranger who was again insensible, she appraised her state, running hands all along the girl's body before nodding slowly. "Get her inside – I don't care where, just somewhere with a bed – she's in a bad way," scowling at the crowd, she ushered her son away with the girl. "Well? Don't all stand there gawping!"

 

* * *

 

"What's wrong with her, Alice?" Fanny asked nervously, stepping into the darkened room and watching the older woman trying to soothe the stranger.

Alice sighed, shaking her head. "She's going to have baby," she told Fanny over the other girl's whimpers, "and I don't think she wants it."

Fanny frowned. A child was a gift from the Lord, everyone knew that. Fanny was no fool, she knew that people fell on hard times – that the world could be harsh and life, difficult. But even in times of hardship – times of trouble – children were God's blessings upon those who had precious few other joys. She and her siblings had always been a comfort to her mother, not a burden. How could any mother not want her child?

The girl on the bed gave a sudden agonized scream, sitting forwards as far as her belly would allow. Alice lowered her back down, pushing the girl's soaked hair away from her face.

"Fanny, fetch more water, would you?" Alice waited until Fanny had gone before speaking again. "Well now," she said tersely, addressing the girl in the bed, "this is some state you're in – you're nowhere near ready." The girl raised slightly glazed eyes to her and nodded vaguely. "So, you've done this to yourself, I presume?" The girl looked confused then ashamed and nodded again. Alice exhaled harshly through her nose. "I've no sympathy," she advised her though she placed one hand on the girl's stomach, "none at all for such a fool of a girl."

The girl took several tremulous breaths before whispering, "They said it would help," she raised pained eyes to the older woman, "they said it would make it go away!"

"Aye, if you'd have taken it before you started to swell, it may have!"

"I still wanted it then!"

They both fell silent except for the girl's breath hitching. Finally, Alice spoke, "There'll be no father then?" Though she phrased it as a question, she had clearly known the answer.

"No, he's…he's – " whatever he was was cut off by another contraction.

Fanny returned just as it ended and the girl's body seemed to melt into the bed as the pain subsided. "Got the water!" She announced cheerfully, placing it by the bed and sitting by the girl's feet. The three sat in silence for a few minutes until Fanny broke it. "We ain't seen you around before," she said softly, "what's your name?" The girl seemed to fold in on herself, not looking at Fanny. "Mine's Fanny," Fanny tried again, giving the girl an encouraging smile.

"Anne," she paused, whimpering and clutching her stomach tightly. "Anne Scath – um, Scarlet."

Both girls looked up as Alice stood and excused herself. "I'm gettin' married next week," Fanny informed Anne, for want of anything better to say, "I'm gonna be Fanny Little." Anne smiled weakly, and encouraged, Fanny continued cheerfully. "I've just seen my John," she grinned shyly, "we're gonna have lots of these – babbies, I mean."

Again, Anne forced a smile, though her eyes filled. "Has his father been gone long?" Fanny asked softly, placing one hand over Anne's. Anne did not answer. "Lots of men 'ave to go away – I'm sure he'll be back."

"He has not  _left_ me," Anne said bitterly, "my husband has not…well, he was never  _mine_." She admitted darkly, avoiding Fanny's gaze.

"Oh," Fanny said, surprised and withdrawing her hand before replacing it awkwardly, "you're not the first," she offered weakly, suddenly feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"What if…'cause of what we done, what if it's  _wrong_ , somehow?" Anne asked after a while, picking at her dress. Fanny didn't answer immediately – she had been thinking the same thing – but she tried to smile comfortingly.

"You're not very big…" Fanny stated casually.

Anne looked away, guiltily. "I drank something to bring it on early," she admitted quietly, "something to  _get rid_  of it – what if it just made it sick?"

Shocked, Fanny did not answer. She had heard stories that herbs could be taken to finish a pregnancy in such a way that there would be no baby but she could not imagine actually doing so – quite apart from anything else, from what she had heard, it rarely ended happily for the would-be-mother.

"I hope it's dead," Anne continued tearfully, at Fanny's appalled look, she went on, "I really do! People back home – people I've known my whole life –they called me _whore_! and what shall my child be called?" She rubbed absentmindedly at her belly, "they'll call him ' _bastard'_ , I know it! And if he's sick? ' _Cripple'_  or ' _fool'_. He'd be better off dead."

Fanny started as Alice returned carrying more water and rags. Excusing herself from Anne's side, she fled. She returned several hours later after most of the other women had left and helped clear away the soiled blankets. She held the infant in her arms when it became clear that his mother was too exhausted to do even that. Anne was slight, even for someone so young, and the birth having been brought on early only served to make things worse; she had succumbed to exhaustion quickly afterwards . The birth had been hard and the child, small – many of the women were already muttering about mothers and infants who did not make it through the night they were born. It made Fanny feel chilled to the bone when they had all cleared out, leaving her alone with the newborn and its mother – both looking pale and small.

 

* * *

 

"She don't want her own child," Fanny admitted fretfully, biting her lip, "how can she not want 'im?" They spoke through the window, in whispers so as not to disturb Anne and her child. John's face, lit by the candlelight inside the room, flickered in and out of darkness as he watched his bride-to-be, eyes creased in concern. He smiled fondly as she hoisted the baby further into her arms, wrapping yet another blanket around the tiny form before turning her gaze back to John. "Here," she whispered, raising her arms closer to the window, "have a look, isn't he wonderful?"

John grinned outright then, saying gently, "Aye, he's grand."

"Just look at them little hands," Fanny said fondly, "and not a thing out of place neither! He's as bonny a lad as I ever did see."

"He'll be getting bloody hot under all them blankets though," John pointed out as the baby began to fuss weakly.

"Well, I don't want 'im to catch cold now, do I?" Fanny shot back. They both paused as Anne stirred in the bed, her breath hitching before becoming still again. "How can she not want 'im, John?" Fanny repeated sadly, "She was so worried before but he's fine and she still don't want 'im." John had no answer for her but reached one arm through the window to push the folds of blanket back from the infant's face, brushing his cheeks gently. "She ain't even  _named_  'im yet," Fanny added sorrowfully.

"He's a fine little lad," John commented, "his father'll name 'im if she don't."

"He ain't got no father." John's hand stilled suddenly and he slowly withdrew it.

"Fanny,…" He began seriously.

"It ain't his fault!" She said fiercely, holding the baby closer to her and scowling at John. "It ain't his fault," she repeated, "but Anne was right," she looked sadly at John, "People'll call him bastard – all his life – she can call 'im whatever she likes, it won't make no difference."

John could pretend to feel as sympathetically towards Anne and her child as Fanny clearly did, but he smiled in what he hoped was a consoling way and swore he would never be cruel to either of them no matter what he thought of them – not if the very thought of someone being so made his Fanny look so miserable.

"You'd not leave me, would you, John?"

"No!" John said, louder than he had meant to. Lowering his voice, he continued, "I'm marrying you, ain't I? What would I go and leave you for?"

Fanny looked nervous but she nodded, placing the baby carefully onto the bed, next to his mother. "He is a fine little lad," she praised again, returning to the window and placing one hand against John's cheek. "But ours will be finer."


	4. 1175

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne is 17/18. Fanny & John are 20ish and Will is somewhere around 9 months old.

"He's going to be a smasher, Fanny, just you wait!" Anne declared, bouncing her boy on her hip and smiling at Fanny and her husband.

"Course he is!" John agreed proudly, slinging an arm around his wife, "He comes from good stock, don't he?"

"And it's not long now," Anne continued excitedly, "Oh, Fanny! Won't it be wonderful? Little William'll finally have a friend to play with!"

Fanny laughed, "And what if  _he's_  a girl? I'll not have her rolling around and getting into mischief with your boy." Saying this, she chucked a finger under his chin and he beamed a toothy grin at her.

"There'll be plenty of time for rolling around, getting into  _mischief_  when they're older," Anne grinned, laughing devilishly at John's increasing blush. "Look, John," she exclaimed, holding her son out to him, "your daughter's future-husband!" Fanny tried to look scandalized, as she knew she should, but ended up giggling along with Anne all the same; John, on the other hand, seemed to have gone faintly green.

"It don't matter anyway," John said quickly, "because he's going to be a boy and that's that."

Anne suddenly stopped laughing, pulling her son close to her again. "Would it be so bad," she asked, sounding hurt, "for a girl of yours to marry my boy? Because she won't meet no finer match, my boy comes from good stock too!"

"Yes, but  _whose_?" Sniped a young man as he passed, much to the amusement of his fellows.

Fanny watched apprehensively as Anne all but threw her young son into Fanny's arms and stormed after the group of youngsters. She tried to call her friend off as Anne picked up a stone and hurled it at the boys. Anne returned to the pair muttering profanities under her breath and scowling furiously.

"Ignore 'em, Anne," Fanny advised softly, "They don't understand." She turned to her husband for support but he shook his head minutely, refusing to meet her gaze.

"I have to get to them fields," John said abruptly, attempting to kiss his wife's cheek as he said it.

"Well, get gone then!" Fanny told him angrily, shrugging her way out from under his arm and scowling at him disappointedly. She loved him dearly but there were times when for the life of her, she could not understand how she could do so when he could act so harshly to a girl with nobody else in the world. She turned back to Anne, proffering her son.

Anne sniffed and took the infant back, smiling weakly and kissing his cheek.

"They shall have each other if they choose," Fanny said consolingly, reaching out and smoothing the soft hair back from the infant's face, "and if anyone objects then they can go hang because it's nobody's business but ours."

Anne smiled again, as Fanny had hoped she would, and said fondly "I truly believe that no one could stand between any daughter of yours and her love, whoever he may be," she raised her chin and added proudly "Besides, my William might not want your girl – he might steal the heart of some nobleman's daughter."

"And they'll live in some castle and people'll call 'im ' _my lord'_ , I suppose?" Fanny teased.

"Well, why not?" Anne replied defensively. "They ought to anyway," she added moodily.

Fanny's face fell and she sighed frustratedly, "You're off again? Anne, he's a lovely little lad but he ain't no nobleman."

"Says you!" Anne shot back, "one day, his father'll come and claim us and then it'll be your girl who ain't good enough for my boy!"

They held each other's eyes for a moment until Fanny's drifted to the child, who was gazing at them wide-eyed. "He is a lovely lad, Anne," she repeated softly, trying to think what she could say to smooth her friend's ruffled feathers. Smiling hopefully, she added, "I hope it  _is_  a girl."

Anne smirked but then schooled her face back into a frown. Nonetheless, she linked her free arm with Fanny's and began walking them through the village, though Fanny could see she was determined to hold on to her bad temper a while longer since she said not a word until they had reached Fanny's home. Here, they stopped and stood facing each other awkwardly.

"I'm  _sorry_ , all right?" Fanny said imploringly.

Anne paused and for a moment, Fanny feared her attempts to make amends would be rejected but suddenly her friend began to smile until she was outright beaming. "It  _will_  be a girl, Fanny, I can feel it!" She told her enthusiastically, grabbing her hand and squeezing. Suddenly, she started to giggle, "Did you see John's face when I said about…you know," she made a gesture that had Fanny glancing around quickly to make sure nobody was watching.

"Anne! You – " Fanny grabbed her hand and pulled her inside quickly. "You're wicked, Anne Scarlett!" she told her, giggling in spite of herself. "And in front of your little son an' all, you ought to be ashamed!" Anne shrugged innocently and placed her son on the floor beside her, still beaming puckishly. "You only said all that about them getting in mischief because my John was there," Fanny accused her, eyeing her shrewdly.

Anne gave a mock curtsey, bowing her head in acknowledgment. She joined Fanny as Fanny lowered herself into a chair slowly, wincing and considering how much longer she would needs wait before she gave birth. They both sat watching William babble happily to himself on the floor, making vague finger drawings in the earth. Fanny tried to imagine how it would be to have a child of her own, of how she would give everything she had in the world (such as it was) for her child to be happy and healthy. She and John were happily married less than a year but certain that whatever happened, John would see them through it so she had no worries on that account; still, she could not imagine bringing a child into the world knowing it would forever be known as an outcast as Anne had done. She thought back to the previous Autumn when Anne had stumbled into the village, far into the final stages of labour having deliberately brought it on early, agonized and terrified over how her child might come out. But Fanny had not been lying to her earlier, William truly was a fine child, small perhaps but not unhealthily so and no deformity to speak of – all in all, Anne had been extremely lucky though she had not thought so at the time. Little William's life was not going to be easy – his mother and father had seen to that – but for now, he did at least have his health and despite what John said, Fanny intended to make certain her children were not hateful or scornful of William and his mother as others in the town were.

Anne had apparently been thinking along similar lines. "Promise they'll be friends?" she asked quietly, not looking at Fanny.

"Of course," Fanny said at once, taking her friend's hand.

"He doesn't deserve it… what everyone says about him, us, I suppose."

"I know."

"They think I don't know about them," Anne spat, suddenly tearful, "but I do! It isn't just them today – they're just boys! – it's everyone – even your John!"

Fanny grimaced, unsure what to say. She wondered whether she ought to suggest Anne leave and make a fresh start elsewhere but selfishly she knew she wanted her there and that in truth, they'd likely be no better off anywhere else. "John tries," she said eventually.

"Because of you," she said, sounding almost pitying, "John holds back from the others because of you, not because he don't think like they do."

"He likes William," Fanny tried again, fairly certain she was stating truths.

Anne gave a bitter laugh, "Nobody  _likes_ my William,  _nobody_   wants him." She turned to look at her son but this time her gaze was not a kind one.

"But  _you_  do," Fanny said earnestly, "don't you?"

Anne did not reply for a very long time and her eyes were filled with tears when she finally did. She dragged her eyes from her son and turned to look at Fanny, smiling wanly, "Yes," she whispered, "I'm his mother."

 


	5. 1182

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will is about 8, Wulf is basically a newborn. The adults' ages are pretty irrelevant but Anne (24), Fanny & John are in their early/mid-thirties.

Babies, Will decided, were dull. The realisation was disappointing to say the least. Not that this was a new discovery of course; in his eight years he had seen countless infants born into the village – all of whom were welcomed with such joy that he wondered whether he might have missed something about them. But no, those perfectly ordinary newborns had grown into children who were, at best, interesting but reluctant to play (with him at least) or, at worst, downright hostile or had left the world as quickly as they came into it, leaving him no time to decide on their natures. But here, Will had been assured, was one child who would be encouraged (by one parent at least) rather than forbidden to play with him. The problem was, he wasn't at all sure he wanted it to.

Will lowered one hand to the sleeping child beside him, certain that if he interacted with it, the baby would surely prove its worth. He was therefore disappointed when as soon as his fingers touched the infant's cheek, it awoke with a cry so earsplittingly loud that Will jumped back in shock.

"Will! What are you doing? Get away!" Startled, Will was only too happy to obey. He stood and backed away as the baby's mother came to soothe it. "There now," she said quietly as its cries became soft hiccups, "no harm done – you startled 'im is all." Fanny reached one hand out to ruffle Will's hair before turning back to her sniffling son.

Seized by some unknown urge, Will heard himself blurting out, "Can I hold him?"

Fanny hesitated, glancing towards her husband further up the field. "Just for a moment then – sit down there."

Will obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the dry, sun-parched grass. He held his breath as Fanny lowered the baby into his arms, certain that it would start crying again.

"He likes you," Fanny said, once the baby was laying securely in Will's lap, his arms awkwardly supporting it.

Will wasn't sure how she could tell that from the child's completely unchanged expression but grinned, pleased that Fanny was pleased. His smile faltered as he noticed Fanny's husband, John, watching them from afar and scowling. John always seemed to scowl around him recently. Raising his eyes back to Fanny, Will saw that she too was watching John. She glanced down at the two boys and back to her husband, raising her chin stubbornly before turning back to her work.

"Look after Wulf for me a while, Will? There's a good lad," she said, her back to him.

Eyeing both John and then the baby dubiously, Will hesitated.

"Will?" Fanny prompted, half turning again. Will reluctantly agreed, gazing at the other children who were further down the field, playing some sort of chasing game. He'd be good at that, he thought wistfully, he was fast.

Babies were  _very_  dull. But if all the others he had known were like miniature versions of their dull and often hostile parents, Will had had high hopes for Fanny and John's new son. The baby blinked sleepily at him – it seemed he did little else – and Will wondered miserably if he would always be this boring. Would he, Will, always be expected to 'look after' him? And how could he bear it if the thing never did anything but sleep, piss and eat?

As if on cue, Will's own stomach growled loudly – would he be allowed to eat with the Little's tonight? Or would his Mother have magicked some bread or meat from somewhere as she often did? Idly, Will worried that his Mother might be a witch – who else was able to create food where the was none?

"Here now," Will was startled from his thoughts by John's voice directly above him as large hands descended to pluck the baby from his lap, "here's my little lad. Fanny," he called over his shoulder, "is 'e fed?"

Will sniggered at Fanny's indignant reply but disregarded it, straining as he was to keep the infant's face in sight. John had the babe in his arms, gazing intently at it. His gaze briefly wandered to Will who was craning his neck to see, but he turned towards his wife instead leaving a pouting Will in his wake.

Will began to follow but was stopped short by his name being called.

"William!" repeated Anne, picking up her skirts as she ran toward him. "Here," she gasped, slightly out of breath and thrusting bread into his hands, "eat it."

Pausing barely a second, Will tore into the offering with a furore that surprised even him, barely chewing as he swallowed it down. Anne smiled, smoothing the hair back from his face.

"Not gone bad, has it?" she asked, delicate brows knit in concern as he slowed and then stopped, eyeing it closely.

"No," he replied, forcing down a particularly musty piece and smiling – in truth, it could have been more mould than bread and, as hungry as he was, he would still have eaten it. Although he wondered why, if his mother could magic food at all, she always brought food that had nearly gone bad.

"Lad should be glad to be given anything at all," muttered one of the men – Joshua, Will thought his name was – shoving his way past Anne with something of a leer in her direction.

"I feed my son well enough," declared Anne heatedly, pulling her shawl more closely around her and glaring after him, "and I don't even take  _charity_  for him neither. She turned back to Will. "Well? Go on – eat!" she ordered loudly, drawing the attention of others around them.

Acutely aware of everybody's eyes on him, Will hesitated, chancing a glance at John and Fanny. The latter was looking on in concern, gently swaying her own fussing son. John, it seemed, was studiously averting his eyes from the scene.

"Fine." Suddenly, Anne snatched her meagre offering back. "Starve then." Turning on her heel, she stormed back towards the village, wiping her eyes as he did so. Watching her go, Will caught snatches of muttered conversation and half-pitying looks from their neighbours as they all turned back to work.

"William."

Will turned to John, who inclined his head promptingly in Anne's direction. Scowling – he felt hungrier than ever now – Will shook his head, hair flying madly as he did so. John huffed a sigh, dropping to a crouch so that Will found himself looking directly into John's stern face.

"Will," he heard Fanny begin softly before John interrupted her.

"Get back to it woman, there's work to be done," he barked over his shoulder, grunting in acknowledgement when she reluctantly did so. "William," he repeated more firmly than before, "you go take care your Ma – d'you hear?" When Will made no response except to glower darkly at the ground, he shook him roughly and gave him a push towards home. Risking one last look at the other children and their parents, Will set off, dragging his feet and scowling.

"Go, Scarlett!"

At John's booming command, he broke into a run.

 

* * *

 

Will approached their house slowly. As soon as he had been out of sight of the fields, he had slowed to a reluctant trudge. His mother had seemed more short-tempered than normal and he didn't want her to still be angry with him by the time he got home. Pushing open the door, he paused as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the house compared with the scorching sunlight outside. Through the shadow, he could make out his mother laying with her back to him on their bed. She did not reply as he called to her, though he heard her sniff slightly. He crossed to her slowly, noticing the remains of the bread on the table, and stood beside her. He hovered uncertainly, waiting for her to turn to him and smile as she usually did.

"It was gone bad," she lamented suddenly, still not turning.

"No it wasn't," Will said half-heartedly because really there was no point in lying about it. "Only a little," he amended as he heard her snort derisively.

"Liar."

Will didn't speak then because what could he say? Fact was fact and the fact was the bread had indeed been mouldy – more than mouldy, the whole thing had tasted sharp and dusty and generally not a bit like bread. After a moment, Anne turned her face to him, scanning his face for something unknown. He tried to smile at her but she had clearly been crying hard – her pale face was tear-streaked and blotchy, her eyes sore and red. She shifted further over and reached out one hand to him. Hesitantly, he sat.

"My boy," she murmured, raising his hand to her lips.

"I wasn't hungry anyway."

"Liar," she repeated, though there was no venom in it.

"Maybe Fanny – "

"No," she said loudly, suddenly sitting upright. "We don't need their charity, Will."

"But – "

"No! Don't you think I'm hungry too?" She pushed past him, and stood glaring out the window. "We don't need their charity," she said again, more to herself this time.

"It's not charity, Fanny's said so!" Will told her hopefully, trailing after her. "It's not charity if you're fami – "

Anne barked a laugh, throwing her head back – Will thought she looked quite deranged. Turning back to him, she knelt and took his hands in hers. "She has her  _own_  son now, Will," she stated quietly.

"But  _I_ was never her – " Will began, confused.

"Enough!" she shouted suddenly, standing and pushing herself away from him. "They have their own child, Will, there's no place for you there anymore! You belong with me and we don't need nobody else!"

Will felt his eyes burn with tears – he had never tried to be Fanny's son, he had his own mother! As for not needing anyone else…

"We need my Da," he whispered resentfully.

And didn't it always come back to that? No one round here would help because Anne had no husband; no  _man_  would have her because she had borne another man's bastard. Will had never met his father – wasn't sure if anyone but his Mother around here had. His Mother rarely spoke of him and when she did she could go from pure adoration to unadulterated hatred and cursing that she had ever met him. She had told him stories; Will knew his father was a nobleman, even knew the man's name, though his Mother had forbidden him to speak of it to anybody. She'd never spoken of any other family, whether Will's father had had other women though she had assured him that he had been made from love and that it was only by the machinations of some unseen evil that he had not been raised in a castle by his father.

At his words, his mother had stilled, gone rigid. Slowly, she turned back towards him and for a moment, he thought she would strike him. She spoke, eventually, in a voice he had rarely heard from her – certainly, never heard directed at him – it was cruel, bitter, and it made him shiver even in the heat of the high summer.

"Your father has his  _own_  son too."


	6. 1178 - Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit references to sex/prostitution.
> 
> Anne is 20, Will is 4, and the unnamed Little daughter is about 2 and a half.

* * *

Anne redressed slowly, stealing glances at her companion from beneath her lashes. He kept his eyes averted and she wanted to laugh. Mere moments ago, their bare flesh had met with nought but his thin undershirt between them and now he blushed like a new bride at catching even a glimpse of her underskirts.

"You can look, you know," she said quietly, deliberately letting the laces hang loose around her blouse as she leant towards him. She smirked coquettishly, "You can do more than look … if you like."

"Have you no shame at all?" he asked her disbelievingly, turning away from her.

Her face fell and she sat up, flinging open the ratty curtain separating them from the rest of the cottage and brushing past him. "This ain't the time to talk about shame, Tom," she told him, suddenly cold. "Now, are you leaving or did you want to go again?"

He stared at her for a moment, looking both repulsed and pitying. She hated him for both. He shook his head and made for the door; as he passed her, he paused and said, "Come by the house later – I'll leave you out sumat to eat."

She frowned. "Give it to me now."

He sighed frustratedly. "Someone'll see." He reached the door and said firmly, "Come later – I'll leave it by the fence."

"I'm not an animal, Thomas!" she cried, outraged. For a second, she fancied he looked almost guilty.

He collected himself, sticking out his chin. "D'you want it or not?"

She wanted to say 'no', wanted to tell him just what he could do with his charity. But, suddenly she felt ever so ever so weary and she nodded stiffly.

He paused a moment longer and then he was gone. Anne stared blankly around the empty house for a few moments, furling and unfurling her fingers at her sides, before returning to the bed and smoothing the blanket down. Once this was done, she sat down at the table, head in her hands, and waited for the sun to set. She did not cry.

John stopped short as he entered the house, silently raising an eyebrow to his wife who stood at the fire, biting her lip. Sidestepping the children on the floor and patting his daughter on the head as he passed, he approached her.

"What's he doing here?" he muttered gruffly, glancing back towards the two children.

Fanny followed his gaze. "William?" she asked innocently, looking surprised to see the little boy there. John did not reply but scowled sternly. Fanny quickly dropped the façade. "Don't you look at me like that, John Little," she told him, brandishing a spoon at him, "This is my house an' all." John's expression did not change so she turned away, busying herself with dinner. "It was raining," she added, clearly feeling that the matter was now over with.

John grunted, supressing a smile at her continued grumblings under her breath. He turned to watch the children, the eldest of whom did indeed look to be in the later stages of drying out. William sat cross-legged, tracing patterns in the dirt with one finger, completely oblivious to the infant who observed him nearby, imitating the drawings as well as she could and chattering happily. John eased himself into a chair, his muscles aching from the long day's work. Fanny bustled past, placing a flagon of mead on the table in front of him and he caught her hand and squeezed it as she passed.

"Anne's in one of her moods," Fanny told him forlornly, joining him at the table. When her husband did not respond except to raise his brows, she continued. "John, he was all alone – that little lad out in the rain on his own! I couldn't just leave 'im out there, could I?"

"Anne's 'is mother," he reminded her firmly, swigging from the bottle.

"But she weren't there, John!"

"You should've taken 'im home, Fanny."

Fanny hesitated. "She 'ad some man there," she admitted, taking the flagon from him and drinking.

John frowned, confused. Their own daughter had seen him and Fanny being intimate many times; obviously, Anne was not married to this man but it was hardly necessary to remove William from the house because of it.

"John, what if he said something?" Fanny said, as if her reasoning ought to be obvious to him. "What if this fellow of Anne's is married and Will told the world about them?"

John could not help but think that the man in question would deserve it if that were the case but he could see Fanny's logic. At barely four years old, William was hardly the embodiment of discretion and very few of their neighbours would hesitate to out their anger on him at being exposed, no matter how young or blameless he might be. Shaking his head, John relented. "He stays until his mother comes looking. You got enough for one more?" He asked, nodding at the cooking pot.

Fanny nodded eagerly, "He's only a little 'un, he don't eat much."

John raised his brows doubtfully but said nothing.

 

* * *

 

Anne did not appear to claim her son back that night, nor did she come the following morning. It was not until the late afternoon when Fanny knelt tending their little garden, that Anne's shadow appeared by the fence.

"Fanny," she called, leaning against the wooden fence, "have you seen my William?"

Sitting back, Fanny considered her friend. She did not appear hurt, or sick or seem to have any other excuse for not missing the lad until now – in fact, she seemed barely concerned not to have seen her only child in almost an entire day and night. Frowning slightly, Fanny hesitated, then, "I ain't seen him," she lied slowly. "When d'you last have him?"

Anne huffed and turned to gaze up and down the road. "Last night," she admitted in a small voice. As Fanny frowned even further, she hastened to add, "I had him Fanny – I swear – he must've wandered off, you know what he's like!"

"P'raps you should keep a better eye on 'im then," Fanny told her sternly, returning to her plot.

"Fanny!" exclaimed Anne in hurt indignation, pushing open the little gate and coming to kneel by her friend. "He was in the house, and then I – ," she broke off, blushing fiercely, "and then, when I turned he was gone. Oh, help me look for him, Fanny? Please?" When Fanny did not reply, Anne's voice became more desperate and she wrung her hands. "Oh Fanny, please? Anything could have happened! I didn't mean to miss 'im, he just ran off!"

"He's in the house," Fanny sighed, unwilling in the face of her friend's sudden distress to go on with the charade any longer.

Anne's eyes widened in surprise then she scowled. "You're a beast, Fanny Little!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and storming into the house. She emerged dragging her son by one arm. William stared wide-eyed between the two women. "I shall never speak to you again as long as I live!"

Fanny bit her lip, regretting her earlier deception as Anne strode away, William trotting along beside her. She adored her young friend – truly she did – but there were times when she could not fathom the lack of concern Anne tended to show for her child. Had it been her own child missing a day and a half, Fanny would have been beside herself with worry yet Anne seemed to count William's disappearance as little more than an inconvenience.

She sometimes wondered if she ought to confront Anne about her behaviour – not just to William but in general – because in a community as small as theirs, Anne's promiscuity was never going to go unnoticed for long. It was hardly a secret even now. For the time being however, people seemed content to make their judgments in silence, hiding their contempt behind veiled insults that Anne could not react to without confirming their accusations. Even John, who tried so hard to be kind for Fanny's sake despite his opinions of Anne, could hardly control his own barbs when Anne was  _so_ obvious in her ways. If only Anne could find work – though nobody seemed willing to give it – she could stop all this. It infuriated Fanny that Anne could bemoan her status as 'whore' and yet continue to bed other women's husbands and sons without ever thinking to marry them. And as for Will, Fanny shuddered to think of the grief he would encounter in his life when his mother's 'occupation' became common knowledge instead of muttered insinuations.


	7. 1178 - Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: contains the 'off-screen' death of an OC child. Please do not read it if this will upset you.
> 
> Will is 5, Anne is 21. John & Fanny are about 30, their daughter is around 3. Thomas' age is, as ever, irrelevant - somewhere in his 20s.

* * *

The house was uncharacteristically quiet. Too quiet to bear really. Even in the latest hours of the night, there were always noises – John's deafening snores or their daughter's fitful wails as she kept her parents from sleep. Tonight there was nothing, not even Fanny quietly trying to lull the little one back to sleep. Clutching her shawls tighter around herself, Anne stifled a scream as something cold slipped into her hand. She smiled tightly as she recognised William's pale face through the darkness, one small hand wrapped around hers. Lifting him, she turned back to the window and to the house across the road from them, where the dying fire within cast dancing shadows across the road.

"Something's wrong," she muttered quietly, more to herself than her son. Suddenly, a young man stumbled from the Littles' home, staring almost fearfully at her before making his way towards her door. Placing William down, she went to meet him. "Thomas?" she asked fearfully as she opened the door to him.

The young man did not respond for a moment. He cast his eyes everywhere but at her before at last speaking. "She's dead," he covered his mouth with one hand, made a choking noise in his throat, "Oh God, she's dead."

Anne's blood ran cold and, though she knew the answer, she couldn't help asking, "Who is?"

Again, Thomas did not reply though his eyes dropped briefly to where William had edged up behind his mother's skirts and now clung to her leg. "Oh God," the young man repeated, squeezing his eyes shut against tears.

"Stay here?" Anne asked him, though it was more of an order than a request. Thomas looked slightly apprehensive but nodded, slipping past her as she stepped aside to let him in. He slumped heavily on to the bed, burying his face in his hands. She hesitated before placing one small hand on his shoulder, smiling at her son in what she hoped was a comforting way. The child looked on in puzzlement, wondering why their friend's brother was there at so late an hour and so upset. "That fire needs stoking," she told him softly, standing. Thomas nodded, barely raising his face from his hands. "I'll be back soon."

On impulse, Anne bent and kissed her son's forehead before turning and silently making her way across the path to the Littles' house.

Left alone with him, Will watched the man apprehensively. Thomas ignored him for a long while, sitting so still that Will wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Slowly, he crept towards the bed and paused before clambering on to it beside the man and laying down facing him. Sensing, or perhaps disturbed by, his presence Thomas sat up, turning to look at him through bloodshot eyes that were the same as Fanny's.

"Night time's for sleepin'," Will informed him quietly, when Thomas did not speak.

Thomas paused, seeming to consider that notion before nodding sagely. He watched the small boy a moment later until, unnerved by his gaze, Will scrunched his eyes shut and attempted to pull the threadbare blanket right the way over himself. "You feeling all right?" Thomas asked him suddenly, showing quite unprecedented concern for Will. He took the blanket from the boy's hands and placed it over him himself, bringing it right up to boy's chin. Will said nothing but looked slightly stunned by the question. "You're not feelin', I dunno, sniffly or 'owt?"

Will took a moment to categorise his feelings before shaking his head quickly.

Thomas made a slight scoffing noise in the back of his throat and a muttered, "Figures," before saying aloud, "Good – that's good." He stood and took up Anne's place at the window, gazing out across the way to his sister's house. "Go to sleep now, your ma'll be back soon." Once Will had complied, Thomas went to the door and quietly slipped out.

 

* * *

 

"I don't know what to say."

John glanced at Anne from his seat at the table, his eyes bleary. "Then don't talk," he snapped.

Anne scowled indignantly, turning to her friend for support. Fanny leant against the rapidly cooling hearth, her head back, and eyes open but seemingly unseeing. She had not moved from the moment Anne entered – had barely even done so then – and any thought of a quarrel went out of Anne's mind completely. "Fanny?" she whispered, kneeling beside the older woman and placing one hand on her face. "Fanny, come and sit at the table won't you? I'll get another fire going."

Fanny's eyes turned listlessly towards her, looking surprised to see her there. "Why?"

"It's so cold down here on the ground; you'll catch your death – " Anne's hand flew to her mouth, "Oh, Fanny, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to – " she began but Fanny's face – although barely seeming to have registered what she had said – had already turned away from her.

"She'll not move," came John's deep murmur from behind Anne. "Come away."

Anne hesitated, pleading once more, "Fanny, please?" When there came no response, she stood and joined John at the table. Unsure what else to do, she reached out one hand to John's and after a moment, he returned her desperate grasp. "Shall I stoke the fire, John?"

"Let it go out."

Anne couldn't be sure how long they sat there, hands holding tight enough to bruise (in her case anyway) and in total silence. It was well after the fire had gone out – when she could see her breath spiralling in front of her – before any of them moved again.

Vaguely, Anne was aware that Fanny should be put to bed – John too if she could manage it. She squeezed John's hand once before standing, he let her go easily, drawing both arms around himself and watching her movements dully. She paused as she passed Fanny, smoothing one hand across her friend's hair before turning towards the room's final occupant.

Standing by the bed, Anne could feel both her friends' eyes on her. She gazed at the bundle of blankets lying on the bed, motionless. Perfect. Slowly, she reached out one hand to brush the still baby-soft dark hair when suddenly, "NO!" cried Fanny just as her husband barked "Don't you touch her!" She span around, wide-eyed to see Fanny on her feet, her face wet, one hand outstretched. Just behind her, John seemed to tremble with grief and rage. She felt her heart constrict as she looked at them - was there ever two people less deserving of such pain? If there were, Anne had never met them.

"It isn't her. She's…" she broke off, feeling perhaps for the first time how unworthy she was to speak of such things. She continued nonetheless, desperate for them to see through their grief, for them to understand. "She's with the Lord now – I  _know_  it. This," she gestured towards the blankets, "this is just a…she's with the Lord."

Fanny seemed to crumple, retreating back into almost silent sobbing, even as she nodded. John however, seemed angrier than ever. "How would you know? A woman like  _you_ ," he spat, shaking with rage though his eyes were very bright. "What do  _you_ know of the Lord that you can tell me that  _that_  isn't my girl no more?!"

For once, Anne held her tongue though she didn't know how. She allowed John to rage and curse at her and silently willed herself to believe that John, who despite not liking her had been decent and (for the most part) kind to her since they met did not really believe all the terrible things he was saying. She prayed that Fanny – her only true friend in the world – was silent while her husband ranted, out of grief rather than because she secretly agreed. When he was done, he fell rather than sat back in his seat, and buried his face in his hands. For a moment, the only sounds were Anne's rapid breaths and John's muffled sobs. Even Fanny's crying seemed to have been silenced by her husband's outburst.

"John," Anne began tentatively, "I don't…If anything ever happened to my boy – to my William, I'd – "

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN WANT 'IM!" Fanny screamed, so suddenly that both John and Anne half leapt out of their skins. All at once, Fanny was flying at Anne, hands scrabbling to get some kind of hold on her clothing, her hair,  _anything._  "You don't care about 'im – not like I do with my girl! You don't deserve that boy and you  _know_ it!"

When, at last, John managed to half lift, half drag his wife away from her, Anne felt herself trembling. She was in such a flurry of emotion that she could not say which she felt most – fury, shame and hurt all warred within her. "You wish my boy was dead 'stead of your girl?" she asked in a hollow voice as anger won out.

"Of course I do!" Suddenly, Fanny's anger dissipated and John had to lower himself to the ground with her to stop her from falling. She sat and wept bitterly, muttering prayers and desperate apologies between sobs. John, seeming shocked and upset at his wife's admission, turned to Anne.

"Where is your William?" he asked, and Anne was surprised to hear there was only concern in his voice rather than condemnation.

"At home," she murmured, sniffling, "I left 'im with Thomas when he came."

John nodded, detaching himself from Fanny's arms. "Go back to 'im," he told Anne tiredly, grabbing bread from where it had been abandoned on the table earlier that night and thrusting it into her hands. "Feed 'im, get 'im warm. Don't let 'im come round here for a while."

Hesitantly, Anne took the food. She wanted to tell John she wouldn't take his charity, and that she would never let her son near him and his wife again as long as they lived but she only found herself nodding dumbly. When she reached the door, she paused, turning back to where John was desperately hushing his wife. "I only wanted to help," she told him honestly.

"Thanks," he said quietly, with his back to her.

 

* * *

 

It was only when she got home, climbed into bed and hugged her small son to her that she allowed herself to weep silently. He asked what was wrong, of course, and she told him 'nothing' and he accepted it as only small children can. She had sung lullabies that were a mix of those from her own childhood and ones that she had heard Fanny sing to both of their children at one time or another. She told her son that he was loved – so,  _so_ loved – and begged him to never  _ever_ get sick like the Littles' daughter had been.

When he had fallen asleep, she turned away from him and allowed herself to sob bitterly. She told herself that she loved her son and that she was a good mother to him. Mostly, she told herself that she did not wish Will would get whatever illness the Littles' girl had died from.

Finally, she prayed to God to make it true.

**Author's Note:**

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